


A Love for Millennia (a story never told)

by OneSmartChicken



Series: The Scrap Yard [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Always Female Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 19:32:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18531688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneSmartChicken/pseuds/OneSmartChicken
Summary: Stiles had to go into the woods that night. It didn't make sense. She was lured by the sense of adventure, but there was amorethat dragged at her.Or: Stiles is the only one to realize she and Peter are soulmates. She doesn't mention it.





	A Love for Millennia (a story never told)

**Author's Note:**

> So I've read a few fics with like--Steter soulmate stuff and sometimes it changed stuff (eg Peter not dying) and sometimes it didn't and I really want to write a medium ground one sort of. Fem!Stiles because I'm on a kick (if I finish even half my current wips there's gonna be like a sudden influx of fem!Stiles)
> 
>  
> 
> Why am I posting this instead of updating my 486 wips that's a great question shut up don't judge me
> 
>  
> 
> Technically underage because Stiles is 16 and Peter is who knows but they barely even kiss so I opted not to tag for it?

Stiles  _had_  to go into the woods that night. It didn't make sense. She was lured by the sense of adventure, but there was a  _more_  that dragged at her. She called Scott because they'd promised to never leave each other out of adventures, and because she was—nervous, maybe, over the suspicious, powerful pull she felt.

It got stronger as she lead them into the woods, and she kept following it, because she couldn't  _not._  It lead her to a musty smell like copper and a thatch of tangled trees and her brother screaming. She dragged him home and resolved to never follow a mysterious pull again.

Scott survived, and Stiles researched, and she ignored the pull until she couldn't stand it, and then she sat down and  _imagined._  She gathered the pull up, great armfuls of iridescent rope, trying not to wonder at the big chunk of it that was all scarred and tattered. It occurred to her to break it, to saw right through the weak spot and never look back. The thought made her feel like her world was ending and she couldn't bring herself to even try.

Instead she tied a knot in it, then another and another, until it was more knot that rope, the connection strangled off. Not severed, still, yet close enough that she'd begun crying three knots in. By the time she felt finished, she was shaking through great, tearing sobs, and she came out of herself only to bury herself under the covers and weep.

It worked though. She knew it did, because she didn't feel it again until Peter Hale took her to a parking garage and offered her the Bite and one knot unraveled just enough to  _know._ There was no recognition in Peter's eyes though, nothing but wicked curiosity, and she didn't know what to do with the sudden influx of desperate warmth and need and something new and bright she was terrified to name.

It wasn't anything like natural or normal, yet she knew she couldn't—wouldn't—reject it. But she needed time. She said no and meant  _wait_ and Peter shrugged, unconcerned, except he was disappointed, she could tell, somehow, could read him like she'd known him her while life. And she entertained the thought of knowing him before the fire, and could've cried again at the desperate longing the thought prompted.

She didn't light him on fire, but she couldn't stop the others—not with Scott holding her back, thinking he was helping, confused by her reaction. He was still holding her when all the knots came loose at once, and Derek struck. Stiles screamed. Her heart had been torn out, her throat slit, her body burned, the world was ending and no one else seemed to realize it.

Scott tried to hold her still, tried to comfort her despite not understanding, until Stiles bit him hard enough to draw blood, startling him into letting go. She scrambled away and clutched at her head as she cried. It felt like there was a black hole dragging her in but it wouldn't do her the courtesy of actually  _ending_  her. It felt like everything was dead and rotting. It felt like she'd been left behind and shattered into a thousand pieces.

It felt like a tragedy, like millennia of tragedies, like the world marched on uncaring and left her to pull herself back together.

She drove herself home, snarling at the werewolves and the hunters alike at any noise or movement they made towards her. She hated them all for killing him, for being alive when he was dead, for leaving her mateless before she'd ever had him, and never mind that he'd been utterly mad and psychotic. That unnamed feeling had been  _love,_  left over from every life before, and she understood why her father had drank after his wife died.

Stiles considered the same vice.

She avoided everyone she'd ever known except her dad after that. But Lydia approached her a month after Peter died, and the next thing she knew Lydia was taking her shopping and telling her how to dress and after that she hung out with Lydia and Danny and sometimes Allison, though Stiles still wouldn't—couldn't—speak to her.

It wasn't a Bella Swan moment; she didn't go catatonic and start making bad choices. And she got better. She learned to talk to Allison and smile at Lydia and she started talking to Scott again. (Not Derek though. The one time she'd seen him in passing she'd bitten her tongue to bleeding holding back violence.)

At the same time, she wasn't all that involved with supernatural things. Up until Gerard Argent decided to kidnap her.

She didn't cry with him, though she threw up once. All she wanted was to go home (all she wanted was what she couldn't have but she would settle for home). Instead she helped Lydia, helped the girl who had suddenly become quite possibly her best friend after almost a decade of one-sided crush.

Scott—fucking  _Scott._  First he tricked Derek—fuck Derek but also what the  _fuck_  buddy—and now he wanted to let Gerard  _live?_

_"Absolutely_  * **not,"**  she snarled. Not for the first time, she felt more wolf than human, and wished for claws and teeth of her own. She stormed across the concrete, limping and holding her bruised stomach but determined.

"He  _dies,_  Scott," she hissed, teeth bared as she hefted her bat, using it to point at her friend. "Even the legal system would give him the death penalty. He murdered  _dozens_  of  _children._ " She pointed her bat at the old man and sneered.

"The only kindness you can give him is a quick death; because if you don't kill him,  _I will._ "

Scott ripped his claws through Gerard's carotid artery. And Stiles noticed that there was a strange drag on her chest, strange and familiar at once. She shook her head, deciding to contemplate it later, too tired just then to try and figure anything out.

They separated, Stiles climbing into her poor jeep to drive home. She barely stepped out of the vehicle in her driveway before there were hands on her hips and a nose against the dip of her throat and a low rumble filling the air. It would've frightened her, if not for the singing in her very veins, and the recognition and joy suffusing the unknotted rope at her core.

Stiles collapsed like all her strings had been cut. Arms around his neck, she hid her face against him and just breathed him in. She didn't realize she was making sad little whimpers and whispering his name until he began to shush her, crooning little noises of comfort against her hair. Picking her up, he held her as he shut the car door and, after listening for anything inside, carried her into the house and upstairs.

"How did you hide from me, little one?" he murmured in a tone of, at once, wonder and anguish. He was glad though, in a way, that she had; he wouldn't have been able to resist her, and he suspected only the fact they had been relative strangers had kept her alive through his death. Mates rarely outlived each other, and he suspected that included mates connected by fate.

He could feel her now though, and it was a good thing the bond tied them together because he was  _never_  letting her go.

Stiles burrowed into him, tears leaving tracks across her face, down her cheeks and off her nose and off into her hair. He would have killed anyone who made her cry, except his own death would only make her cry more. Besides, these were tears of old anguish, thick with relief.

Peter kissed her hair and murmured soothing promises, swearing never again to leave her, that she was safe, that he would kill any who hurt her, that she was his and he hers. He slid under the covers with her, kicking his shoes off on the hunch that she was the sort to hold a grudge over that sort of thing.

"Peter," she murmured, more coherent than she'd been since he caught her. "Missed you."

"And I you, darling," he assured. He stroked her hair, keeping his petting methodical, and smiled as she was lulled off to sleep by the motion on top of her clear exhaustion. It nearly gave him a crick in his neck but he twisted a bit to press a kiss to her throat, feeling the slow throb of her pulse under his lips.

And finally he let himself think about the smell of her blood, of her pain, of the bruises he could spot on what little skin she had uncovered. He had been draining her pain of course, but it was still there, and she had suffered the cause. The wolf raged, staying contained only by virtue of how vulnerable their mate was just then, cried out and beaten, long overdue sleep judging by the dark circles—and in need of food judging by how much weight she'd lost, weight she hadn't been able to spare.

He had done a terrible job looking after her so far, and being dead seemed a flimsy excuse just then, with how fragile she felt, like her bones were brittle and hollow. It wasn't merely an illusion from being a thin teenage human girl either; he could still remember holding her arm in that parking garage, the strength in that deceptively slender arm, as much a reflection of her willpower as her physical strength.

Peter found he regretted many things, often in a conflicted fashion, but this weakness he had caused seemed the greatest.

"Never again, little one," he swore, petting her still, unable to stop. Stiles sighed in her sleep, a simple expression of pure, uncomplicated happiness. It soothed his wolf, settled for the moment its thirst for bloody vengeance. At least in her sleep, Stiles trusted her safety in his presence. For now, it was enough.

…

She woke already veering towards panic, and didn't understand why until Peter was crooning apologies to her, talking her through breathing. She settled under soft touches and innocent kisses, Peter kneeling in front of where she sat on the bed

"You were gone," she croaked, voice ruined from all her crying.

"Just to the bathroom, darling," he said but sounded apologetic about it anyway.

"Sorry," she said, but couldn't say more, cut off by a quick, chaste kiss, Peter pressing their foreheads together after.

"Please don't apologize to me, darling," he murmured, blue eyes dark and serious. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I'll tell you as many times as you need: I'm  _never_  leaving you again." The conviction in his voice probably should have scared her. She barely knew him, only really knew him as a murdering psychopath. Instead it comforted her like nothing else, leaving her basking in the strength of his words as much as the words themselves, and the warmth of him so close.

Sighing, she dropped her head to his shoulder, breathing in his scent, expensive cologne and something earthy she couldn't place.

She had researched this, of course she had. Researched a bond between strangers that tied every fibre of her being. It hadn't been easy, but she somehow just  _knew_  things already, enough to identify when something was blatantly wrong.

"A thousand years of tragedies," she murmured. Peter sat down on the bed, tugging her into his lap so she could stay in her chosen position. "Of falling in love but never..." Stiles pressed her mouth to his skin, unsure how to put it. Never being happy together, maybe. Of being forced apart by circumstance.

There were vague, pseudo-memories, of watching a wedding, watching the bride smile through her tears and knowing she smiled only because the people preferred a happy bride; of holding hands and bleeding from a terrible wound as someone screamed; of losing their child as he wept in great terrible sobs and being unable to even reach for him; of trying to hold on and being snatched away and never finding the one she loved; dying with love on her lips and tears on her beloved's face, or being the one to watch as her beloved died; endless tragedy, some unique, many repeating and no less terrible for it.

And she remembered being told that there had accomplished  _something,_  that their tragedy had drawn the attention of a powerful being, who granted them this bond. She didn't know if it was kindness or cruelty, even as she clutched at the bond and couldn't imagine ever letting go.

Peter kissed her hair, shushing her, smelling salty tears and sorrow and knowing he could do nothing but hold her through it and try not to cry quite so much himself.

"We almost—almost  _again_ —" she choked out, unable to stand the knowledge that they only barely had this. That it could still go wrong. They had been together before, had managed this much, and still failed. She was grateful the bond gave only the vaguest of memories, or else she knew she would have lost her mind.

"Almost," Peter agreed. "But we didn't. I'm back, darling. We're alright." He held her tighter, thinking as well of the tragedies that had struck after they had thought themselves safe. And he swore it wouldn't happen again. He had brought himself back once, he would do it again, would bring her back, would never let them die at all no matter the cost.

They cried together, desperate and hurting and at the same time so terribly happy just to have each other. Because after all their tragedies, all the pain and suffering, it had all been worth it for what little happiness they had, for the love they carried still.

They had never been werewolves before, although Stiles often had magic of some sort, often little household magics, something to help with the dusting and keep the bread from burning. Peter had been a mighty wizard once, and the memory makes her grin. He had teased the little hedgewitch, until he found Stiles chatting with a dragon and nearly had a heart attack.

"Do you remember," Peter began thoughtfully, "your dragon?" Stiles laughed, delighted that they'd somehow thought of the same thing.

"I remember your wolf too," she said, drawing back only to grin at him, to cup his face in one hand. "And how they used to tease us."

"My wolf—I think he's found me already," he admitted, tapping his chest, and Stiles beamed, believing him instantly. "I wonder if we can find her too. Dragons live long lives." Stiles—hadn't thought of that. She stared a long moment, then threw herself at him with enough force to knock him into his back.

She peppered his face with kisses as he laughed. With his hands on her hips, looking down at his smiling face, feeling him breathing under her, Stiles felt powerful, too powerful to let this be taken from her again.

"You're right, mate," she declared, unaware of the magic threading her voice. "We'll succeed this time. They'll never take you from me, nor I from you, not ever again." Her spark lit the air around her, suffused it with power, as she made her promise to the universe. And if she was made a liar, if they robbed her of this happiness—she would return the favor tenfold.

Stiles hopped off of him, heading for the closet, hips swaying as he watched. He thought about catching her, kissing her properly, but they had time for that later. They would date, and fall in love all over again. He suspected they would both like that, to take their time. They'd never had the chance to just date before. At most they'd been mutually pining, and that wasn't the same at all.

"What do you want for breakfast?" Stiles asked, pawing through her clothes. After all her memories, despite how vague, it felt strange to be a woman and not wear a dress. Although, she had done it before, born feeling like a woman despite what was between her legs. That had not been a nice life.

Not that she suddenly  _minded_  pants. Still, she gave in, pulling out one of the sun dresses Lydia had made her get. Peter got up while she was deciding between the red one or the one with little cartoon dogs all over it. When she looked at him, she found him going through her bras, and snorted.

"You cannot eat my bras, Peter," she said. He winked at her, and held out a lacy black bra with panties that matched pretty well considering she hadn't bought them together.

"Perhaps I'll make breakfast," he suggested. "French toast?" Her stomach growled he enthusiastic answer. Laughing, Peter kissed her cheek, then strolled out the door to go start breakfast, leaving the lingerie in her hands.

Stiles wore the dog dress.

…

Her dad got home before either of them remembered they'd have to actually tell people—people who might not approve. Stiles didn't even think of the latter when the door opened. She sprang out of Peter's lap and raced to the door like she was a kid again, excited and eager to share it.

"Dad!" she cried, grinning so hard her face hurt. "Dad come meet Peter!" She tugged him into the living room as he laughed, launching herself back at Peter to kiss his cheek. They  _were_  keeping it slow, but neither thought to even try to resist cuddling.

The sheriff stared at them, expression unreadable. Stiles continued beaming at him at first, but as the silence stretched, her face began to fall.

"Daddy?" she said, soft, nervous for the first time since that morning when she decided to believe in the two of them. Peter held her a little tighter. He wasn't one to care what others thought, but he knew Stiles cared, at least about what  _this_  other thought, which made him care too.

Noah huffed a laugh. "You really are just like your mother," he said, and Stiles relaxed at the fond warmth in his tone. "Whenever she got excited she forgot any reason not to be. I wish I had video of her telling me she was pregnant." He smiled at the memory, as found herself Stiles blinking back sudden tears.

"I never knew that," she said softly. Noah winced a little, knowing there was much he'd neglected to tell Stiles about her mother, but kept smiling.

"I walked in the door and she tackled me," he shared. "Just started talking about cribs and paint colors. Took me ten minutes to figure out what she was talking about, and then she had the nerve to ask me if I wasn't happy. I was of course—ecstatic, really. Just didn't expect it. Or this. Hale, right?" He offered his hand, which Peter immediately shook.

"Yes sir," he said, almost meek, which made Stiles giggle.

"I can't say you're what I'd hoped for, but I know better than to fight my daughter, not when you clearly make her happy," Noah said, surprisingly easy. It wasn't something he would have expected to accept so readily, but the joy suffusing Stiles's entire being made it easier. "I expect you to take it slow though— _glacially_  slow—and I better see you for Saturday dinners."

"Of course," Peter agreed. He was glad, really, to be invited to family time. After all, Stiles and her father were his family now. Actually.

"We should invite Derek too," Stiles proposed. They weren't suddenly able to share thoughts, but they frequently found themselves on the same wavelength.

"I'd like that," he murmured. "Thank you, darling." Beaming, feeling like she would never  _stop,_  Stiles snuggled in under his arm, feet tucked under her, and held on knowing neither of them would ever let go.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's the end apparently??? I guess? Tell me if there's anything from this verse you want to see I dunno if I'll write it but I don't know that I won't either so
> 
> I dunno guys I'm just real tired
> 
> I just realized I straight up forgot about Stiles getting beat up by Gerard but I refuse to try and fix it I just want to post this dammit, I'd have to add at least two scenes and ugh. Sorry?


End file.
